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The belief that Busta Rhymes sold out for crossover appeal is about as absurd as a double-dutch jump-rope contest without black girls. Busta's animated, vainglorious videos run rampant on MTV, but this doesn't take away from the brother's MCing abilities. He's one of the three livest crowd movers in the 90-now, a Jimi Hendrix of hip-hop who experiments with outlandish musical tracks. The production of Busta's first two albums, The Coming and When Disaster Strikes..., were too blah for his controlled, erratic delivery. Then Busta helped turn out Flipmode Squad's The Imperial, which was loaded with hot beats, giving headz a reason to anticipate his next CD. Extinction Level Event/Final World Front, Busta's fourth album in just three years, is an ill, next-next-level hip-hop joint. The music takes you on a ride that begins with jaunty, apocalyptical tunes, travels up the block to grab a few street beats, gets jiggy for a minute with a little bounce and ends with a high-powered rock tribute. Busta reacts to the tracks like somebody slapped his mama, unleashing his trademark dungeon dragon roar. Mystikal's Captain Cave Man imitation duels with Busta's Tasmanian Devil growl on "Iz They Wildin' Wit Us & Gettin' Rowdy Wit Us," a crazy response to the sonic guitar plucks that propel the song into the outer reaches of space. This collaboration is countered by the beautiful melody of "Take It Off"; Bus-A-Bus displays his adaptability, perfectly lacing his vocals with the salsa-influenced tune. H.V. Claytor Jr.
Frontman Sam Prekop has led Chicago's the Sea and Cake through explorations of tonal dynamics and percussive logarithms. For the most part, this adventuring has borne stellar results, particularly the band's self-titled debut and 1997's The Fawn. But some albums, such as The Biz, have been plagued by ostentatious jazzbo meanderings. Joined by S&C guitarist Archer Prewitt, producer Jim O'Rourke of Gastr del Sol, bassist Josh Abrams and percussionist Chad Taylor, Prekop veers back and forth between the exceptional and the interminable on his first solo album. "A Cloud to the Black" is the standout cut on the record. Buoyed by a repetitive piano line, the song is beautifully subtle and intricate, reminding one of a concerto. The following song, "Don't Bother," is highlighted by some of Prekop's best guitar playing. Unfortunately other tracks--like "Faces and People," one of the few cuts that contain electronic nuances--sound like uncompleted sketches rather than fully realized compositions. It is on these songs that the album loses focus, becoming a haze of jazz noodling. Stephen Slaybaugh
Though Seaweed is actually from Tacoma, the band's fortunes once rolled alongside those of Seattle's music scene; when the city was hot property in the early '90s, so were Seaweed's albums. No matter that the music was closer to Dag Nasty's melodic, rising emo-punk than the metallic grunge that got major labels frothing--if the CD said Sub Pop, the biggies wanted a piece. Seaweed signed. Bad move: The resulting Spanaway (Hollywood) showcased faceless, forgettable alt-pop that stripped away the band's basement appeal and clipped its sentiments down to easily digested crumbs. Frankly, I wrote this one off. See ya, Seaweed. Well, the band just wrote itself back into the script. The power chords
of vintage Seaweed return, but they've brought some friendly faces with
them: Sliding harmonic accents skim across the top; bubbling percussion
(courtesy Alan Cage of Quicksand) replaces the plain 4/4 pulse; and
Aaron Stauffer's floating yelp rides more cresting melodies. Best of
all, the record label keeps its paws off the production, flushing out
the stale corporate air of Spanaway and pumping in fresh indie
atmosphere. Hello again, Seaweed. Although you can't really go home
again, it's nice to see you're keeping in touch. John Graham
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